Legacy
by SilverAtHeart712
Summary: What if Harry potter wasn't the cause of the Dark lord's fall? What If Harry potter was given to a magical family, and became so full of himself that he couldn't contribute to the magical community? This is the story of a young boy forced to take on the mantle of savior because on one else will. Contains mature themes and is based around OC's. OCxOC, harry/Dumbledore bashing


Moonlight Shone over the countryside on this brisk Saturday evening. The silvery light crept through the pine boughs, shone on the wildflowers, and lit up the fog around the home where our story starts. In fact this moonlight was so penetrating in fact, that one individual was finding it quite annoying. Mr. David Grey was currently standing on his porch, and attempting to block the especially bright moonlight from his eyes. Mr. Grey was in an exceptionally good mood. Earlier that day he had received a new client, one Miss Miranda Tine, who had payed him a rather large amount of money for agreeing to provide his services. To Mr. Grey this meant that he could finally install the tennis courts he had wanted in the backyard. As soon as his new tennis courts where done, he could begin conducting business deals there. His biggest reason to hold all of his client meetings here at home was, of course, to show off the renovations he had done to the place. Mr. Grey was wealthy, and he believed that if you had wealth, then you should show it off. (This was exactly the reason Mr. Grey lived in a large marble mansion on a beautifully trimmed garden.) And showing off wealth was a skill Mr. Grey had perfected. In fact, he was currently considering inviting his new client to come and visit his home, that way he could display some of his many expensive cars. This train of thought was abruptly cut short by a loud scream that cut through the air, coming from the inside of the marble mansion. Mr. Grey jumped. He had completely forgotten why he had come out to the porch on this cold November night.

Rolling up his sleeves, he slowly raised his left hand and began to chant. As he did he heard the screams from inside the house slowly fade, until he had finished chanting at the night sky, which was the moment the screaming stopped. Satisfied with his work, Mr. Grey rushed back into the house. Curiously, the Screaming started right back up again for Mr. Grey as he entered the house. He noted the distinct change in tone when he walked through the door. It was much warmer and brighter in the house. Then he quickly ran into its large bright interior. The screaming could only be one thing. His wife was giving birth.

But unknown to Mr. Grey, he was not the only one to hear the screams from inside the house. In the large, dark forest surrounding the mansion a dark figure limped slowly toward the marble mansion. The figure wasn't exactly human. It was dark and swirling, like a collection of black dust and sand, swirling together in the shape of a human. But despite its otherworldly appearance, it was very surely limping. And the most ominous part of the dark figure, was that its swirling hands seemed to be holding its side, where a dark red liquid was flowing steadily between its fingers. It slowly and steadily made its way towards the brightly lit mansion. Steadily creeping forward with terrible purpose.

Just as it reached the house, suddenly a crying started to emanate from a second story window. The Being raised its head, and just as slowly as it had approached the house, it began to creep up the house's wall. It didn't crawl up the wall, it just.. Moved up it. Then the shadowy figure reached the window the crying was coming it peeked over the edge of the window, it saw a child wrapped in a blanket, laying on a desk just below the window. Countless people filled the room, rushing about, hastily knocking things over and chanting. There was such chaos in the room that no-one noticed the Dark figure creep into the room, no longer in the shape of a human, but rather in the shape of a puddle. It crept toward the baby, leaving behind a trail of dark red liquid. Once it reached the child, it stopped. Slowly it raised a makeshift limb (Little more than a blob of swirling sand) and gently touched the baby's head. With a small flash of black light, (Not purple light, but light that was truly the color black), the being was gone. So was the streak of red liquid. All that remained of the black figure was a tiny black design, right on the palm of the baby's hand, just below its index finger.

Not a soul noticed that design for 11 years. None of the Nurses running around in the background. Not even the Terrified father who was clutching at his wife who's eyes had glossed over the second the child had been born.

And that is how our story begins.


End file.
